Another Track

There were not enough seats, so Winston found himself in the space between carriages. Standing over his trunk, he battled to keep it upright and not sliding by squeezing it between his knees. He watched the corrugated black rubber, straddling the coupling mechanism beneath, be pulled one way then the other by carriages moving in different directions. Fifteen travellers, with their luggage, occupied this unsteady space and, if that wasn't bad enough, ticket collectors, those making their way to the toilets as well as the lost and aimless, deemed it their right that all would make way for their wobbly journey through.

A couple in their thirties, standing by the door, had pushed the window down. Although smoking wasn't allowed on British Rail, the presence of having such ventilation close at hand evidently seemed enough justification to light up. The conductor didn't mind, or more likely couldn't be bothered, to tell them to extinguish their cigarettes as he shuffled from one carriage to the next. 

Winston attempted a calculation in his head so that he had a fact to add to his next conversation. It was the 1990’s and although it was reported that ticket prices hadn’t increased by more than the rate of inflation it certainly didn’t feel like it. His journey was 170 miles and cost £57.50 so call it 180 miles and £60, and he was paying £1 for every three miles. Altogether the people crammed around him were paying £15 for every three miles or £5 per mile, more in fact when you considered he had a young person's railcard. He looked through to the long carriage jam-packed with passengers and knew there were ten carriages. Although ten is an easy number to multiply by, the calculation would still be too complex, and he felt disinclined to unpack his trunk to remove a calculator. A rough estimate would be sufficient to have enough material when next complaining about the exorbitant prices and inadequacies of British Rail. He imagined, with a smile, the discussion he would have with his neighbour, a passionate bearded socialist, at the student hall of residence they both shared.

Winston looked at the faces of those standing near him. There was no anger, just a resignation that this was the state of affairs when you travelled by train. It had been like this for years, and sometimes it was worse. At least this train hadn't been late or become stuck somewhere. Sunday was the worst day for travel as that was when repairs were carried out. Loudspeakers exhibited an unseemly lack of decorum for the sabbath giving unsettling cacophonous announcements to the restless crowds waiting on concrete platforms. No one listened to the apologies for the inconvenience caused or believed the words of remorse were sincere.

Some years before when the socialists came to power they stole the trains with great enthusiasm. Stealing is easy when you are in government. In fact, the socialists didn't say they were stealing at all but only taking back what was rightfully theirs. All they had to proclaim was “in the name of the people,” and every act of thievery was justified. Socialists even developed a moral conscience alongside a pious expression and went to church, an act not very popular with the capitalists who thought all places of worship belonged to them.

The national railway had been a source of great pride at its inception. Every citizen belonged and would benefit from this institution. Like American wagon trails heading west a century earlier: one person's problem was everyone's problem, and all pitched in to repair a broken wooden wheel or tend to a sick horse in a spirit of brotherly enterprise. The socialists even went so far as to say the populace were all brothers and sisters but invented a new word, “comrade,” to describe this. 

The logic of the socialists, however, was flawed: no matter how convincing their arguments seemed in theory, something didn't work in practice. Tales of inefficiency, self-interest, and downright mean-spirited behaviour started to surface. The socialists became quieter about the virtues of the national rail service and red-faced when anybody demanded to see the accounts. Their dream was crumbling, but they remained obstinate and forbade any tinkering with it.

The incompetence of British Rail permeated the national consciousness to the extent that it spawned a collection of tiresome jokes. The one Winston despised above all others concerned the inedibility of their pork pies. Railway staff had absorbed insults to the extent that they no longer felt embarrassed about the company they were working for. They had no reputation to uphold, so just adopted a tone of arrogance to complaints. As the railways belonged to the government, they were doing a favour transporting people. After all, no other organisation was capable of taking them by train: the government had made certain of that by stealing all the trains and tracks. “Take your business elsewhere,” they said, smirking in response to any criticism.

Winston hated British Rail with a passion, and his mood was not improved by the prospect of having to switch trains at the next station and facing a long cold wait. It was necessary to change platforms, and there was no way his heavy trunk could negotiate the stairs. Eventually, an attendant in a peaked cap took him to a lift, but as this was not for public use, he had to be accompanied. 

The worker was surly and made sure Winston understood a great favour was being done for him, although nothing more strenuous than pushing buttons took place.

   ‘It's usual to give a tip for this service,’ the peaked cap said in a demanding tone of voice as if it was his right.

   ‘Here you go,’ Winston was too tired to argue and handed over the smallest amount he felt would be acceptable. 

There were no thanks, not even a doffing of the peaked cap, but Winston was pleased with his sudden departure: he loathed dealing with railway workers. 

The capitalists weren't pleased about having their trains stolen but initially kept quiet as the people seemed happy. Everybody could travel on the trains, and no one was forced to polish anyone else's boots with their own spit. As a concession to the rich capitalists, first class was introduced, so they didn't have to mix with commoners, but this was expensive, and not everyone liked paying, even if they had the money. 

The capitalists bided their time but never forgot the good old days when they had their own carriage and an abundance of poor people to carry luggage and wait on them. A favourite pastime was to regale each other with tales of railway travel in a genteel bygone age. The extinct Great Western Railway was remembered with fond sentimentality and given the moniker “God's Wonderful Railway.”

On the other hand, British Rail became a byword for inefficiency and incompetence. 

‘It’s symptomatic of everything wrong with our society and government by the socialists’, the leader of the capitalists screamed from his soapbox as he painted a future of ever more crowded, expensive and late trains serving nothing but pork pies to their customers.  

The capitalists had been in power for some years, having run a slick advertising campaign portraying the socialists as outdated impediments to the nation’s progress. They were looking for new eye-catching policies and decided to sell off the trains, carriages, and tracks. The price was £1 for each piece, but only their friends could apply to buy as they knew best how to run a railway. The press assured the public this was a fair way to dispose of the assets, and everyone was getting good value for money. 

There was no longer to be one big organisation running the national railway system but lots of smaller companies. People wouldn't say “take your business elsewhere” with a smirk on their face because this was now possible. You could go to the opposite end of the country and use as many trains as you wished if you didn't like the ones in your own locality. Different companies were put in charge of the trains and the tracks, choice was everywhere, and all this competition would lower prices and improve services.

Winston had left university and took a pay cut from being a share trader to start his job at the newly privatised railway company. Something about earning a high salary without doing a great deal of work in his previous employment did not sit right with him and he wanted to make a difference while he was still young. Reading through the glossy recruitment brochure, he experienced nothing but optimism as it outlined a glowing vision of the future. Opportunities abounded for career advancement, and there was a need to employ innovators to develop imaginative ways to travel. He would be getting in on the ground floor of this ground-breaking development in transport, and who could predict what heights he would reach if he stuck with the company? The main railway station was to be redeveloped, and as a key member of the financial services team he had been allocated his own office with a large window overlooking the railway platforms so that he could watch the constant movement of trains and passengers.

Unfortunately, the new station wasn’t ready on the day he took up his appointment. There had been a disagreement with building inspectors as one member of the railway board had given the task of designing the structure to a relative, and it now came to light that the plans did not meet safety requirements. Construction was halted while a solution was sought and temporary office accommodation was arranged for Winston. This was more cramped than promised, and he was forced to share with five other employees. 

As for the travelling public, they were shoe-horned into trains as before, and the price of tickets didn't reduce. There were signs, however, explaining that the situation was only temporary and due to the previous poor British Rail management. Assurances were made that great things were in the pipeline. On each information board was an artist's impression of what the redeveloped station would look like along with such phrases as “the travel of the future” and “railways reimagined.”

The administrator of the railway station was an American lady who paced the platforms and pre-fabricated corridors energetically with a fixed smile telling everybody how wonderful things were going to be and what a fantastic job they were doing. The hardships endured were merely temporary, and everyone was grateful for the sacrifice they were making. She made light of the diesel fumes filling Winston's office, and when it was pointed out that a safety rail was needed to stop people falling onto the track, she agreed and then did nothing about it.

Staff meetings were held at which she talked enthusiastically and at length about the plans the company had for the future. Those who praised her ideas were promoted, while employees who asked uncomfortable questions were universally condemned as negative. Her energy seemed boundless, and upon seeing several people about to raise a thorny issue, she could filibuster until her audience was worn out, forgotten what they wanted to say, or time had run out. One of her favourite phrases was “your time is valuable,” so the meetings always ended on schedule.  

Winston had negotiated what he thought was a reasonable pay deal, so was quite shocked upon seeing his first paycheque. He had not counted on all the deductions, which had stacked up to reduce it to a level where it would be difficult to see him through the month. These included compulsory training levy, accident insurance, and payment to the company pension fund. He was, however, in a more fortunate position than most. 

Some employees were paid half of what he was earning and supplemented their income by taking second jobs. You could find colleagues working behind a bar at night or stacking supermarket shelves at the weekend while taking in lodgers was a popular and unobtrusive way to generate funds. Winston felt particularly bad for those single mothers who volunteered to work the evening shift as it paid slightly more but resulted in them missing out on seeing their children. He was warned about taking days off to visit his elderly mother in a care home. This would be counted as unpaid leave and be automatically deducted from his salary.

Where possible, services on the station were contracted out, so cleaning tasks and security were no longer the company's duty. Similarly, all food and retail outlets were let out. They were given complete freedom to charge what they wanted, but perhaps more importantly, they could underpay their staff, and the railway company was able to wash its hands of any responsibility. 

The one department that never failed to attract funds, however, was marketing. Big glossy brochures were produced, posters were plastered on every inch of available wall space, and there was a huge television screen to show smiling customers and staff alongside the latest slogan. All advertising media contained drawings of speeding sleek trains, and some artists had even gone as far as to develop futuristic models of prototypes. Unknown to most employees, a new mission statement and vision suddenly appeared on the company website alongside a code of conduct entitled the “seven pillars of customer care” and “our promise to you.”

One day the marketing department printed a brochure advertising for a new head of finance. This was Winston's department, and the job specification sounded very much like the duties performed by his immediate superior, Harold. Everybody in the finance department respected Harold. He had over thirty years’ experience working in the railway system and had a reputation for being thorough in how he ran the department as well as principled and fair in managing those in positions beneath him. Indeed on more than one occasion he had taken up workers’ grievances with the senior management team, a fact that many suspected contributed to his unpopularity with his superiors. The day the brochure came out he spent the morning in the American administrator’s office, then returned to the temporary offices of the finance department and, without a word, packed up his things and left.

A fresh culture accompanied the appointment of Harold’s successor, and rationalisation became the buzzword in the finance department. Income had to be maximized from the sale of rail tickets, and complex algorithms were designed to arrive at correlations between desperation and price. A student railcard reduction was reduced from half-price to one-third since it was argued young people would still buy them at this rate. The last train in the evening was the most expensive as travellers had no choice but to buy it and prices increased exponentially the later any ticket was purchased. To find the best deal, passengers were forced to trawl through the internet for hours and take unfamiliar routes. Those who relied on season tickets to travel to work every day saw the cost of each one regularly increase at more than the rate of inflation.

Winston thought the capitalists and socialists could be compared to two railway tracks diverging, one to the right and one to the left. Neither route appealed, and he wished he could take another. He even theorised the way may not be in the centre: ordinary measures of direction probably didn't apply as it must lead to an imaginary location. Such a place would be unconfined by earthly perspectives, possibly resembling the two-dimensional world of Flatland or the distorted sizes found in Gulliver's Travels. It would be a magical wonderland though still inhabited by trains and railway tracks.

In this world, employees worked hard and were rewarded for their contribution with no huge disparities or secret pay deals. They did their best to satisfy customers without pandering to unreasonable demands and could suggest improvements to working conditions with an absence of fear. 

The marketing department was renamed the information department. Its budget was slashed, and a directive was issued stating it could no longer tell lies or even exaggerate. The number of directors on the railway board was cut, as was their pay, and all profits reinvested into infrastructure. Ticket prices became more uniform and simpler to understand, with no one being taken advantage of because they were desperate to travel or didn't understand the pricing structure. 

In short, people travelled in comfort at a reasonable price with mutual respect between customers and staff. This civility spread throughout the workplace, and being fired at the whim of a manager was unheard of. Personality and background did not determine positions but rather suitability for the job. Winston thought this place could be named Enlightenedland but doubted he would ever see it.  

One would have thought the socialists could have capitalised on the unpopular standing of the privatised railways, but this proved more difficult than expected. The memories of British Rail were difficult to dislodge, and, even those too young to experience them, knew the horror stories of the men in peaked caps. Smiling faces continued to peer out from brochures, posters, and screens, and the marketing department worked harder than ever to come up with increasingly catchy slogans.

A new socialist government came to power but couldn't agree on how to reform the railways. Some wanted a return to the old national railway system, while others favoured greater regulation of what was in existence. Confusion reigned as they squabbled amongst themselves, and, as railway share prices fell, workers were laid off. The newspapers derided their policies and wrote column inches commiserating with the plight of former employees. Enlightenedland became a dream Winston cherished in his heart and described to his grandchildren, alongside tales of fairies, goblins, and castles in the air.